~ omne trium perfectum

Monthly Archives: June 2014

When we loaded the trailers sky high in a modern day version of the grapes of wrath and drove north in our mass exodus from wild, smoggy, youthful and vicious L.A., we knew life was changing. Of course we did, we were moving after all. But really we had no idea. Even Zelda (the cat) was destined for change.

The move was a battle from the beginning to end…one of those things that later you look upon and say, “If it wasn’t hard, it wouldn’t be worth it.” And of course it would be worth it if it had been easy—we just may have had a bit more fun and money in the end. Alas!

We packed in a wild mess and left piles of shit in the alley outside our apartment—most of which was squirreled across the drive to the neighbors compound. I doled out plants and made my friends promise to care for them in all their greenness. The neighbors across the hall snagged a couch. And still we were overloaded. To the max. Heaps and heaps of belongings that would be carted from LA thru Vegas and eventually home to Lake Wenatchee, WA.

My mom and brother Drew were there like cursing angels—spackling walls and hauling boxes. Bringing humor (as always) and the help that we so desperately needed.

And finally we fit all we could and said goodbye to LA on a Saturday night. It’d been seven and a half long years. It had been the city where I grew up and where Derek and I fell in love. It had been a lot of things to me. And now it was time for me to move on.

We contended with flat tires, flat spare tires, burnt wheel bearings, broken axels, skeezy motels, desolate roads, and hot, hot sun. We wrestled shorted wiring, hail falling from a grey sky and an angry cat pissing in the car. We threw all our money at the problems and crossed our fingers that we would make it home.

But we also laughed and soaked up family. We kept our dreams close.

We are here now. And we are tough and ready and eager. We planted some flowers the other day and I can’t wait to see them bloom. Zelda’s even killing mice. So it turns out, we all three seem to be settling in to country life fairly well.

A friend of mine recently asked me, “Isn’t motherhood the greatest!?” to which I responded, “Ya, it’s awesome.” I suppose this was probably the quickest and lamest answer I could muster after a twelve hour work day but the word does encapsulate parenthood. It is awesome & magical & breathtaking & tiring & trying and all those other adjectives which can fit into the definition of motherhood. Yet to me, one of the best things about becoming a mother has been the chance to witness 1st hand my husband becoming a father. From that first grainy picture, he has been there; on the journey with me and though he can be overly opinionated & sometimes bossy and almost always overdresses our son, which I blame on his Guatemalan roots-his patience knows no bounds. Watching him watch this amazing little being we created together is magical.

Then when London does something hilarious, which since he’s a toddler, is often, we catch each other’s eye and the same thought is there-“How did we make such an awesome kid?” and the fact that we both know that & recognize that same sense of awe in each other is what makes it amazing. That there’s someone else besides me on this planet who loves this kid as much as I do and is there raising him along side me. It is a luxury that previous generations longed for I am sure as prior to the last few decades, parenthood was very much a one woman show. Dads were the weekend disciplinarians, the figures who swooped in for a quick game of tag in the backyard and goodnight pat on the head. I know because that is my Dad and though I wouldn’t trade him for the world, raising children with him was no doubt trying at times. I want somebody in the thick of it with me, tackling the chaos head-on, side by side, not leading the way from a safe distance ahead.

So thank-you my love for being the husband that you are and the father you became. I couldn’t imagine doing this without you. It’s made my journey into motherhood that much sweeter and I would not have picked anyone else-nor, I am sure, would have London.

“Lost in the valley without my horses / No one can tell me what my remorse is” – the great ~ ~ THINKER ~ ~ Anthony Kiedis (yeah, dude from the Red Hot Chili Peppers)

My mother is a fervent catholic.

She maintains a tradition of dedicating a mass to dead loved ones at the anniversary of their deaths. Every year. No matter how long it’s been since they have passed away.

She does that for her father, mother, aunts and brother. She does that for my brother, my father and cousins. She does that for her grandparents.

While I’m not religious and have never seen a major point in carrying on with this tradition, I’ve recently begun wondering what I would do if my mother could no longer maintain her promise to herself. If she is no longer able to celebrate the memory of her loved ones, her own way, would I have any reason to carry on with her tradition, even if she never even implied I should at all?

Personal promises are powerful, but only if you take yourself seriously enough. Oftentimes, however, taking oneself seriously is the least-likely thing you are encouraged to do.

Taking existence lightly makes things easier, when you fail. Learning where caring ends and where taking things lightly begins is something we have mastery over after we set our own standards.

There’s nothing pre-made. No perfect formula to follow.

Just like I can’t tell you what should motivate you, you are the only one who knows what’s important to you and so it goes with what kind of traditions you like to embrace and carry on. Could I choose to care about a promise my mother has silently kept for so long or would I weaken its significance by not quite getting why she does it over time?